Just as the killer stood wielding his knife at the shower curtain, and Kylie sat perched on the edge of the sofa, her heart pounding mildly despite having seen the film countless times, her cellphone chimed its merry little melody. Her hand flew to her chest, her breath hitching in her ribs until she exhaled long enough to glance at the screen. Cat’s photograph flashed on it. Kylie chewed her lip for only a moment before silencing the ringer.
Then she remembered: Adam’s card. It still sat on the dresser in the bedroom. Would he answer if she called? Or had too much time gone by? It was only a week. Her mind volleyed between whether or not she should call. The possibility remained that he was a jerk. It was also possible that he was a genuinely nice guy. What could she even talk about with him? Something fluttered in her stomach, only slightly, as she recalled the sound of his playful laughter and the way his smile lifted his cheeks. Screw it. She drained the last of the wine in her glass, rose to her feet, and headed into the bedroom for Adam’s card.
On the third ring after dialing and plopping back onto the sofa, his tenor voice answered, “Hello?”
“Um, hi.” She swallowed. “This is Kylie. From the concert.”
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I guess. Just hanging out at home.” It sounded lame, even to her own ears. Maybe she shouldn’t have called. Swallowing hard, she stared down at her lap, regretting her choice to call.
An awkward pause. Silence passed between them until, finally, Adam spoke, “Do you want to get a drink or something? There’s a bar on East Bay Street—O’Sullivan’s—I could meet you there, if you want.”
She paused. Well, what did she have to lose? If anything, she had something to gain if she went—Cat would stop nagging her to finally get out on a date. She chewed her lip before answering. “All right,” she agreed. “When?”
“Meet me in an hour?”
I know what it's like.
East Bay Street stood only five blocks from the house, and Adam was eager to get out of it. Shawn had laid claim to the living room for the evening again—sprawled out on the sofa with a random woman on his lap. Adam still heard their grunts and groans echoing in his head.
Tourists and bar hoppers seemed oblivious to the chill, without sweatshirts or jackets as they roamed the streets. A chorus of their voices, music, and the tinkling of glasses spilled from each open doorway. Adam loved downtown and how it came alive at night. The empty stalls of the open-air market on the appropriately named Market Street seemed oddly eerie compared to their daytime hubbub of commotion: vendors selling homemade trinkets, paintings, and hand-woven sweetgrass baskets to the endless flood of people flowing through.
He shoved his sweaty hands in his jacket pockets while he walked, stepping over uneven cracks in the sidewalk. A walking ghost tour passed by, and their flashing cameras were blindingly bright, leaving spots in Adam’s vision. Blinking them away, he turned the corner onto East Bay Street, hopping over bumpy cobblestones, and dodged a group of college students spilling from the front door of O’Sullivan’s.
The air inside the dark, tight space was thick, almost stifling, and filled with computerized instrumental music. Adam glanced around. No sign of Kylie. He was early, though, as he eased himself onto a barstool and ordered a beer. A croaky version of I Will Survive sounded from the young woman at the karaoke machine; her voice broke on every note out of her vocal range, and she laughed on every third downbeat. Adam wondered if Kylie would agree to doing karaoke. Probably not; she had seemed the quiet type. Next, an older couple took the stage and delivered a deep, throaty rendition of Sonny and Cher, and Adam leaned against the bar as he watched, chuckling as the woman tossed her long hair over her shoulder.
He silently counted the minutes as they passed. Maybe Kylie wasn’t going to show.
While he waited, slowly nursing his drink and checking his phone every thirty seconds, five more karaoke contestants passed through the stage. It wasn’t until his second order that the stool beside him scraped along the knot-ridden floor. Kylie, dressed in a dark sweater and jeans that hugged her hips just right, climbed onto it. Her hair was tied in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and subtle makeup glittered on her cheekbones under the lights.
“Hi,” she greeted, glancing at him and offering a small smile.
He grinned in return. “Hey. You look nice. I take it you got the blood off.”
He received a low, snorting laugh in return. Kylie eyed him, biting one side of her lip before flagging down the bartender and ordering a Mojito. Had his compliment been awkward or inappropriate? Adam wondered. It had been innocent enough, right? From the corner of his eye, he watched as Kylie surveyed the karaoke equipment with mild wariness.
“So…” began Adam, scrambling to think of something to say, and he bit his tongue before he could blurt out anything embarrassing. How was it that he was this nervous already? Taking a swig from his drink, he drummed his fingers in a steady beat on the bar. Nerves had choked his words before they could escape. Clearing his throat and steeling himself, he finally spoke.
“Tell me about your work more. You said you work for Charleston Charm, right? How’d you get into that?”
Her brow raised as she looked at him. Had she expected him to forget? The bartender set a highball glass in front of her, and she wasted no time in taking a long sip, forestalling her reply. Setting it down, she waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just a silly job writing junk content for their website. It’s not even hard stuff; just topics like How to Get the Perfect Brows in Five Simple Steps.”
Her eyes had gone wide as she spoke, and her hands waved in the air. She laughed, and although Adam wasn’t quite sure what for, he reveled in the sound.
“How about your work?” she continued. “And your band, what’s it called? What kind of music do you play?”
“Work sucks, pretty much. Well, you know I’m a waiter down at Grits.” His laughter came jittery as he slid the bottle of beer between his hands. The amber liquid sloshed within its container. “Things are good with the band—One Night Young, that’s our name—and we play mostly alternative and rock. Kind of a blend. I’m assuming you like rock, right? Since you were at a rock concert and all.”
Kylie sipped her drink, nodding slowly. “Yeah.” Another long sip. Adam waited for her to say something else, but nothing came.
“The Relief is my favorite band. Kind of an inspiration for us, actually,” he said to fill the silence between them.
“What got you into music?” she asked suddenly, twirling the straw between her fingers.
“My mother, to be honest. She gave piano lessons at our house when I was a kid. We had this old upright—it was seriously ancient—and she used to play all the time. I always wanted to sit next to her on the bench, and my dad used to get pissed every time I’d play chopsticks.” He chuckled, although his tone had grown slightly bitter.
Kylie smiled, brushing her hair from her cheek. “Do you play anything besides piano?”
“Guitar and cello. Mostly guitar nowadays, though.”
“Wish I was that talented.”
Something about the curve of her lips as she smiled made Adam’s stomach flutter and clench. Somehow, this conversation was turning into all about himself; he wanted to know about her, to hear her speak, yet she had yet to say very much. He needed to get her talking more. “How about you? How’d you end up working at a magazine?”
“It’s just something to get my foot in the door. I’d love to write for the Herald. Real stories, you know? I got my degree in Journalism with a dual major in Criminology. One day, I want to run a crime column or something along those lines.”
Another screeching karaoke contestant took the stage, and Adam raised his voice, “Still, it doesn’t seem like that horrible of a job.”
She leaned in toward him. He had to pause, mesmerized by the way her hair fell in her face and brushed her cheek. With a forced smile, Kylie t
raced the rim of her glass. Her hand trembled in a modest way, and her eyes stared unblinking at her fingers. Something seemed to occupy her mind. What else could he talk about? This night was failing to pan out as he had hoped.
He rubbed his palm on the leg of his jeans. “Er, it’s kind of stuffy in here. Want to go for a walk?”
“Um, sure. The Battery is nice at night,” she offered, already tossing cash onto the bar and slinging the strap of her bag over her head.
Instinct urged him to hold her hand, but he quickly shoved his own hand into his jacket pocket instead. Lint stuck to his sweaty fingertips. Surely, Kylie must have noticed his hand reaching for hers. If she had, she remained quiet as she led him outside.
“At least it’s warmer than last week,” she said, folding her arms.
“It could be worse; we could have weather like New York.” He smiled, lopsided. “I remember winter up there.” At Kylie’s perplexed expression, he continued, “My family is from there. I was eleven when we moved here.”
“I was about to say, you still sound like a—how do y’all pronounce it—New Yawkah.” She grinned.
Adam laughed. “Not even close, but I’ll take it. Guess it’s just from growing up with parents from Staten Island.”
They strolled down East Bay Street at a slow, languid pace. Kylie spoke briefly about growing up in Charleston, about Cat, and more about her work at Charleston Charm; Adam shared his memories of the Bronx and Manhattan. Bashfully, Kylie admitted she had never traveled farther than Raleigh.
The briny scent of the water clung to the gentle breeze. Between the calmly lapping water reflecting the clear night sky and caressing the rocks below, and the dim lights shining through the curtained windows of the pastel row of buildings, Adam couldn’t have asked for a prettier evening. He and Kylie climbed the smooth stone steps to the Battery, an old stone seawall overlooking the harbor. Either more couples strolled the Battery than usual this evening, or Adam was merely acutely aware of their presence with Kylie walking beside him. Some held hands, some kissed, and some, like he and Kylie, simply strolled the walkway.
Her steps slowed until she stopped to lean against the black metal railing, her hands clasped in front of her, and her gaze turned skyward.
“I like coming down here at night, especially when it’s warm,” Adam said softly, leaning beside her.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, but the breeze caught it, tugging it loose again. “It is pretty out here,” she agreed.
“Like you.” Despite fighting it, a grin lifted his lips and touched his eyes. It was a terrible line, he knew.
Her eyes snapped at him, calculating, until they turned back to the inky black sky. The corner of her mouth twitched. “Is that the line you use on every girl?”
“It works more often than not,” he teased.
She smiled. But was it a bemused smile, or had she actually found his joke humorous? He swallowed.
“I take it I’m not the first girl you’ve used that line on, then.” Her tone turned light.
“You hold the reigning title of the only girl I’ve ever punched.”
“Oh, great.” Laughing, her mirth lit up her face. “That makes me feel special.”
“It should,” he said, nodding fervently. But his expression fell, his smile fading. “Seriously, though, I really am sorry about that.”
She nodded but stayed quiet. Her body trembled, and she rubbed her arms. Adam slipped off his jacket, offering it. It was a reason to see her again, something he knew he wanted from the moment she sat down in O’Sullivan’s. Kylie considered him briefly before accepting it and slipping it on, pushing up the sleeves and returning to her spot on the rail. Her gaze turned downward, and her hands wrung together, her fingers entwining and untwining in quick circles, all while she nibbled subtly on her lower lip. Suddenly, she seemed engrossed with something under her fingernail. Adam opened his mouth, about to ask what was on her mind, but thought better of it. Maybe asking would be too intrusive. Again, he was blundering.
Steeling himself, he asked, “Something on your mind?”
Biting her lip harder, Kylie drew it in. Her glance darted to him, regarding him. He held it, hoping his expression was one of invitation and understanding. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply, seemingly gathering her thoughts.
“I’m just ready to get through next week,” she answered in a near trembling whisper. “My mama might be sick. Might have cancer.” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and shook her head. “I’m sorry. This is probably too personal.”
What was he supposed to say? Cancer. He hated that word, hated it for the sour taste it left on his tongue. Hated it for the memories it shoved in his face, memories he wished he could douse in kerosene and burn to ashes in a big blaze. Swallowing hard, he choked down his bitterness.
“No, no, you’re fine. Sorry to hear that.”
“She had the biopsy today, so now we’re waiting for the results.” Her words came more quickly as she continued. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
“Must be hard,” he murmured.
Kylie twisted her fingers together again, wringing her hands as she stared at them. “It’s getting late. I should probably get home.”
Finally, an opportunity to lighten the mood once more. “Is your car going to turn into a pumpkin?”
She glowered, but her mouth twitched into a smirk.
The pair made their way back down the smooth stone steps to street level. While he walked, Adam’s gaze continued to flicker to Kylie. Her blue eyes remained down.
“Well,” he began, tentative, slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants, “if you ever want to, y’know, talk to someone about it, you can call me. I know what it’s like.”
“Sure.”
Nothing else comforting or reassuring drifted through his mind as they approached a small, red hatchback parked along the curb. Kylie moved to slip her arms from his jacket, but he waved a hand.
“Keep it for now. It’s probably cold in your car,” he said.
“Um, thanks.” She pulled it back on and closed the zipper.
It would be easy, Adam thought, standing close enough he could smell her floral perfume—it was sweet and light, not overpowering—to lean down and kiss her. He wiggled his fingers in his pockets as he paused. An awkward tension blossomed; his desire must have been evident in his expression. Looking away, Kylie blushed and fumbled with her key fob to unlock the door.
“I should go.” She offered a small smile before easing herself in. “Thanks for tonight.”
“Anytime.” He gestured a small wave and pushed the door shut for her before watching as she pulled out into the street.
Something inside him fluttered, urging him not to give up.
The afternoon sun shined through the large picture window of the office, leaving strands of filtered light on Kylie’s cubicle wall. Monday, as in the nature of most Mondays, had proven to be as typical of a day as it could be. Nothing special stood out about it, and she wondered if it would be her last normal Monday.
She had spent most of the weekend at her mother’s house, where they discussed everything and anything—except their wait for the lab results. Kylie had done her best to conceal her worry and fears, and Sarah had done the same. They drank their coffee and chatted, went shopping on Saturday, and Sarah cooked dinner for Kylie on Sunday.
With one cheek pressed against her palm, Kylie stared blankly at the computer monitor, her other hand poised on the mouse. She had spent most of the morning quickly and half-heartedly drafting an article about a new restaurant on King Street.
But her mind barely focused on work. It wandered and bounced between her mother’s biopsy and her evening with Adam. His jacket, which hung on a chair in her kitchen, still clung to the scent of his cologne. Every time she had walked by it, the smell tapped at the tip of her nose, causing her to replay their date. The curiosity in his dark eyes and the way they watched her had remained in the forefr
ont of her brain. And something he said had also struck her curiosity: I know what it’s like. Had someone he had known battled cancer? Still, as genuine as Adam seemed, cautiousness and a certain wariness warned her to take her time with him. If she had learned anything in life, it was that life had a cruel way of taunting her when it came to relationships. Loss and heartbreak were no strangers to Kylie.
The sound of throat-clearing came from behind. Kylie turned in her creaking chair, prepared to sling some cutting words at Bruce. But a young man in green uniform stood at the cusp of her cubicle, holding a glass vase of bright flowers. She stared at him with a furrowed brow.
“May I help you?” she blurted out.
“These are for a…” He paused to check the tag. “Kylie Lewis.”
“From who?” Already, her irritation flared. This had Bruce written all over it. The man refused to understand the meaning of no.
“Um.” The young man checked the tag again. “An Adam Bell.”
Her jaw closed, and she frowned as she accepted the delivery. With steady hands, she opened the small card poking out from amongst the lilies and baby’s breath.
Pretty flowers for a pretty girl. Hope you’re having a good day and hope you hear good news from the doctors. - Adam
Embarrassment with a doleful undertone washed over her, but she smiled regardless.
“Looks like you’ve got more than one admirer.” Bruce stepped into her cubicle, invading her space, and leaned against her desk. She wanted nothing more than to slap him at this very moment.
“It appears so.” She gave a saintly smile and busied herself with straightening the white ribbon around the vase.
Bruce leaned over, trying to glimpse the card, but Kylie quickly tucked it away. “Who are they from?” he demanded.
“None of your business, that’s who,” she chirped in an overly cheerful, bright tone.
“Well, if this person happens to be bothering you, say the word and I’m here,” said Bruce before winking and exiting her cubicle.
The Days Without You: A Story of Love, Loss, and Grief Page 5
